


Words are Very Rascals

by cygnus_spacecraft



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: #snakespeare, Canon Timeline, Elizabethan England, M/M, Pre-Relationship, also i'm a million years late to the snakespeare party, but who cares right!!!, defo not entirely historically accurate, it's fun so i wrote it, ok this is my first real fanfic!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-11
Updated: 2017-10-11
Packaged: 2019-01-16 06:11:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12337047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cygnus_spacecraft/pseuds/cygnus_spacecraft
Summary: Crowley is one of the Lord Chaimberlain's Men, and is the very Antonio that inspired Shakespeare's squadron of Antonios. Aziraphale notices him in a pub and decides to go see him in Shakespeare's new comedy: Twelfth Night, or What You Will. Awkwardness ensues.





	Words are Very Rascals

**Author's Note:**

> Shout out to Tumblr users @macdicilla, @the-gay-shakespeare-expert, and everyone who contributed to the Snakespeare thread (which is in @macdicilla's Good Omen's tag) for being the inspiration of this fic! The title comes from Twelfth Night.

Aziraphale had, of course, heard of Shakespeare and Marlowe- who hadn't? They had all of greater London buzzing and their plays drew hundreds every performance. In his mind, theater was for lowlifes, and the thought of attending a showing of a new comedy or what have you was completely laughable.  
\--

On a late night in May, Aziraphale went out, as was his wont, to The Amaranth, a small, relatively inexpensive but well kept establishment. He was absentmindedly nursing a flagon of wine when the pub suddenly became much louder. A group of actors had sauntered in - some already a bit tipsy. 

A voice rang out, "DRINKS FOR ALL, courtesy of the Bard and the Lord Chaimberlain's Men!" and the place erupted in cheers. Aziraphale felt nauseous at the sudden noise, and retreated to a seat at the edge of the room as the performers settled in. They were a motley group, and they began debriefing the bartender on the performance. From what he could gather, the main actors were supposed to be playing twins, supported by a musician, several nobles, and... a pirate? Aziraphale gave a condescending huff and turned away.

There seemed to be no end to the actors' boisterous attitudes. Having exhausted their capacity for boasts, the company turned to jokes and tricks. Initially, Aziraphale was inclined to ignore them, but a song caught his ear. 

The man who apparently played the part of pirate was singing a shanty that would have been forgettable, except for how he -and there was no other word for it- hissed out his S's. The sound was perfectly snakelike! And yes, as Aziraphale looked closer, he could see that the man's eyes had slits for pupils.  
Surprised, Aziraphale dashed out.  
\--

“Heavens have mercy,” he muttered as he opened the door to his bookshop. Aziraphale hadn't seen Crowley since the beginning of the century, and although both of them still respected the Agreement, that didn't mean that any encounters with the insufferable demon were all puffy clouds and sunbeams. He grimaced as he remembered that Crowley was probably tempting some poor actor towards Hell at that very moment. But Aziraphale couldn't take any action until he knew exactly why his ... associate was hanging around with an acting troupe. And that would, unfortunately, involve paying the Globe a visit.  
\--

As the pirate Antonio (was Crowley deliberately being unsubtle?) tried to convince the bewildered Viola-dressed-as-Cesario that they had met before, Aziraphale felt absurd. Yes, Sebastian and Antonio’s camaraderie was touching. Yes, there was humor in everyone becoming enamored with each other. Yes, he could see that this temporary confusion would die down and the characters would be happily married. But this Twelfth Night was crude, and he was surrounded by even cruder people here on the ground. Spitting, smelly, foul-mouthed people. And to top it all off, Crowley was wearing a ridiculous half-open shirt.

The closing bows couldn’t come fast enough.  
\--

After the final scene and the interminable clapping, he wormed his way through the pressing crowd to the side entrance. He was thankful for his divine magic, for it assisted him in sneaking past the guard who was probably just a tired ensemble member anyway, but it couldn’t hurt to be safe. Past that point, he didn’t have much difficulty locating the demon, as there was a piece of paper with “Antonio Crowley” written in large, fancy lettering tacked to a door. Aziraphale knocked, nervously preparing himself for an argument.

“Which one of you bastards is bothering m- oh!” Crowley yelled. Upon seeing the angel outside his door, he relaxed slightly.  
“What are you doing here?” he asked. “I don’t mean to be rude- we’re bound to run into each other at least twice a century- but you never struck me as someone to appreciate artistic talent less than fifty years old.”

“I don’t, but that is not the point. I’m here to ask you the same question. Do I need to prevent you from encouraging these people to do the Devil’s work?” Aziraphale countered.

Crowley smirked, saying, “Actually, they do just fine at ‘moral corruption’ without my help. That’s why I enjoy their company so much. Vice is a virtue when one is part of the theatre, but that doesn’t stop them from being kind people. More open to change than your stuffy priests by a long shot.” He poked Aziraphale playfully. “I’m here to have fun.”

There was another knock on the door, which made Aziraphale jump and Crowley groan. “Who is it this time!”

“Antonio, it’s me!”, a smooth baritone answered.

“Fine, come in. I have a visitor.”

The man who walked in to the already-small room had shoulder-length brown hair and a smile that seemed as wide as the Channel. 

“Let me introduce you,” said Crowley. “William, this is my associate Mr. A. Ziraphale. Ziraphale, this is William Shakespeare, poet, playwright, and Bard.” Shakespeare bowed with a flourish.

“I’m enchanted to meet you, Mr. Ziraphale,” he said, taking Aziraphale’s hand and shaking it warmly.

“Likewise, Mr. Shakespeare,” Aziraphale replied, even though it was a half-truth. The famed man’s presence was charming and overwhelming at the same time.

Shakespeare took a step back from Aziraphale, looking at him intently, and then very quickly glancing between the two men before him. He turned to address Crowley.  
“Associates... such as Marlowe and I, yes?”

“Er, no,” Crowley began.

It dawned on Aziraphale that the Bard was using ‘associates’ in a very different manner than Crowley had just a minute before.

“Crowley and I are business partners,” he said, a little awkwardly. “I was unaware that he involved himself in the theatre as well.”

Shakespeare raised his eyebrows, clearly not believing him. “I see.” Leaving Aziraphale flushing, he announced, “I plan to join the rest of the troupe in the revelry tonight. Mr. Ziraphale, feel free to come along to the Amaranth. We would greatly enjoy your presence.” The Bard placed a meaningful emphasis on 'greatly' and gestured to Crowley and himself.

Crowley gave his friend a look that seemed to say: “What in Hell’s name are you doing?!” Before Crowley could say anything, Aziraphale cut in.

“I- I really am flattered that a talented playwright such as yourself would invite me to, er, socialize with you and your company, but I’m afraid I must go.” He paused, trying to come up with an excuse. “I have a prior appointment with a potential buyer. Good night!” 

“Goodbye, Mr. Ziraphale,” Crowley called as the angel quickly removed himself from the room.  
\--

As Aziraphale pondered the entire incident, he decided that there would be no harm done to Heaven if a demon wanted to amuse himself by acting. "In fact," he thought, "it was quite amusing to watch his performance. Perhaps I’ll return to the Globe again sometime."

**Author's Note:**

> A very special shout-out to my girlfriend, with whom many brainstorming sessions were held. Without her, this fic wouldn't exist! Love ya!


End file.
